A Study on Need
by celeste9
Summary: Lester and Becker offer opposing perspectives on their relationship as well as each other. Lester/Becker
1. Chapter 1

__A/N: Okay, well, I'm posting this fic and the next (should hopefully be up on Saturday) as one story not because they're directly related but because I consider them companion pieces. Not in plot, because there isn't one, but in theme. They're sort of character studies? This first is Lester's POV and the second will be Becker's. Part of my Lester/Becker 'verse that started with "Promise Not to Try".

_**A Study on Need, Part One (Lester)  
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James likes to take his time.

He has always been of the firm opinion that anything worth doing is worth doing right, is worth the time and the effort it takes to do it the best way he can. He doesn't feel that sex should be any different.

Becker embraces this with the same enthusiasm he brings to anything involving sex. He is attentive and thorough when he's trying to reduce James to a quivering mess, when he coaxes out sounds that James didn't even know he was capable of making. Becker is nothing if not a giving lover and he likes nothing better than to have James completely at his mercy.

But Becker likes to be completely at James' mercy, too, and that actually surprises James a little when he thinks about it. It surprises him that he can never be exactly certain which Becker prefers because he wouldn't have thought that Becker would get so much pleasure out of being, well, the one on the bottom.

Before they were really together, when they were simply shagging and pretending not to like each other, they were each constantly trying to dominate the other, never wanting to reveal too much. They both have their pride. Even then, though, Becker dropped to his knees rather easily (and very prettily). And when they finally left the ARC, when they brought their… affair into James' bed, it was Becker who asked to be fucked. James doesn't think he could ever have done it; he still doesn't do it. Becker fucks him sometimes and James always enjoys it, but he never, ever asks.

He would never let anyone but Becker do the things he does.

He finds it hard to imagine Becker being like this with anyone else. Becker not being embarrassed to be seen so needy, Becker letting go of his pride. James has a theory that maybe Becker is like this only with him, but maybe that's purely his ego talking. Maybe Becker has always been exactly like this, a little bit slutty, perfectly willing to be the one submitting.

Still, though, he can't quite picture Becker wanting to open up to anyone the way he does with James and he's fairly certain that isn't just his ego.

James tries not to think about Becker with Lieutenant Ian Russell because it's pointless and brings up too much hurt, but sometimes he can't help but wonder. He remembers an angry Becker telling him that Russell was usually the one doing the fucking. He isn't sure how that makes him feel.

Regardless, James clings to his theory because he likes the idea of being something special to Becker, even in this.

James wonders at how well he has come to know Becker's body, maybe even better than his own.

He knows that if he scrapes his nails just there, Becker will arch upwards and if he touches there, Becker will moan softly. He knows that the bit of skin on Becker's inner thigh, just above his knee, is strangely sensitive and that the arches of his feet are ticklish. He knows that Becker likes it when James uses his teeth pretty much anywhere, that it's the most efficient way to get Becker to make that lovely whimpering sound. And when he puts his tongue in Becker's arse, Becker makes the most incredibly unmanly noises that James never expected to hear come out of him. He still remembers with a certain measure of fondness the first time he made Becker come without ever putting a hand on his dick.

He knows the exact weight of Becker's hard cock in his hand, the length and girth of it, the way the soft skin feels against his tongue and how it fits in his hand.

He knows every scar and the story behind them all, because once, what feels like ages ago now, he touched each one and listened while Becker told him about it, Becker's voice rough and halting. He remembers that seeing all of Becker's scars, easing his fingers over them, made him feel a little bit sad. And a little bit angry, too, to think of all that Becker has gone through, the sort of life he lives and the dangers he has to deal with. A small (or maybe not so small) part of James wishes he could take that all away but then Becker wouldn't be Becker.

One thing he will never tell Becker is that James is glad in a way that Becker resigned his commission. This way, Becker is only in danger where James can see him and attempt to mitigate the risk, where James can look after him. He doesn't have to worry about Becker suddenly being shipped off somewhere else, not knowing what's happening and whether he will come home. The creatures are bad enough; at least Becker's not getting shot at as well.

Now, whenever Becker comes home with a new wound that will scar, James kisses it carefully, reverently, and Becker tells him how he got it, even if James has already read it in a report. It's a sort of ritual, he supposes, and it helps him somehow to cope. In his head he knows of course that he isn't making anything better. Kissing Becker's scars doesn't make them go away, doesn't keep him from getting new ones. But it helps all the same.

Sometimes James likes to make his way slowly down Becker's body, cataloguing each and every scar, stroking with his fingers and his tongue, listening to the way Becker's breath hitches. Becker's scars are like a map of his life, like a storybook filled with images. The tiny cut in his eyebrow where he knocked his head as a child, the rough patch on his forearm where he caught a few shards of shrapnel, the jagged line where he busted his knee open playing rugby, the teeth marks on his chest and back that show exactly where a dinosaur bit him, held him in its mouth and then dropped him because Becker refused to give up.

He always saves the same scar for last. The one on Becker's thigh, courtesy of a Therocephalian in a school. This is James' favourite of all the marks on Becker's body because it reminds him of what it had taken to get over himself. He kisses it and feels Becker tremble as he licks the sensitive skin.

James knows exactly how to push Becker to the edge and hold him there, how to make him beg and plead and then how to let him fall. He knows how to tease until Becker swears at him and calls him every manner of filthy name but he also knows how to wring out endearments and 'I love you's that drip from Becker's lips like he can't stop them. He knows also that now Becker wouldn't really want to stop them, that it's easier for him to say what he feels when he has an excuse. It's that damn pride again.

They've never been comfortable with expressing themselves but they've always been good at sex. James isn't really surprised that the physical part helps them with the rest. Hell, he has no idea how long it would have taken him to admit that he loved Becker if he hadn't blurted it out in the middle of sex.

James likes to go slowly because he wants to make Becker feel good, but if he is honest, he gets nearly as much out of it as Becker does. Becker makes him feel possessive, makes him want to mark his territory, in a manner of speaking. There is something about him that brings out all of James' insecurities, makes him want to jealously guard every second of time they have together because he doesn't know if it will last. James has never understood quite why Becker stays. Sometimes he wakes up at night or in the early hours of the morning and watches Becker sleep, listens to his even breathing and admires his long limbs and the fine bone structure of his face.

Becker is young and he has the sort of good looks that draw the eye of everyone who sees him. He could have anyone he wants and yet he stays with James. James knows he shouldn't be so surprised by this. After Becker so firmly and vehemently declared his affections, James should be able to rest assured of his place. It shouldn't matter that Becker is still afraid of making any sort of real commitment because James knows that has less to do with him and more to do with Becker himself.

But the fact remains that it _does _matter and that James can't help but retain that small amount of fear that Becker will someday soon come to his senses and leave him, leave him for someone younger, someone better-looking, someone who cares less about their career and their reputation. Someone who doesn't come with an ex-wife and three kids.

This fear that spawns his neediness comes out at strange times, like when he watches Becker and Ian Russell bend their heads together and laugh and it still makes something in James' heart ache because he thinks that's who Becker should have, someone like Russell. It isn't just Russell, either. James isn't a very publicly affectionate person, never has been, but all it takes is one appreciative look from a stranger for him to throw an arm around Becker's waist. When he does, Becker's inevitably pleased reaction never fails to provoke a pang of guilt. Becker has no idea that James does it not because he wants to, because it's natural, but because a primitive part of him feels the need to ward everyone else off.

And when they are in bed, his doubt and insecurity make him possessive. He likes to be able to smooth his hands over every inch of Becker's skin, to press kisses against Becker's body, to leave bruises in the shape of his fingers. Because he can, because no one else gets to have Becker this way. Because Becker lets James see a side of him that no one else can, not anymore. He tries to believe that this will always be true.

Becker has become a comfort to him, something that says 'home' in a way James hasn't felt in a very long while. It should make him feel silly, to know that he thinks that. Uncomfortable, maybe. But in the darkness of their bedroom, after everything they've been through, James can't be ashamed about it. He looks at Becker and thinks, _I love you,_ thinks, _Stay with me forever,_ even if he doesn't say it out loud.

James loves the scratch of Becker's stubble against his face after a long day and he loves the curly patch of hair on Becker's chest, how he can rest his nose there and breathe in and know that it's Becker just by the way he smells. The soap he uses, a plain, sterile sort of smell in contrast to the citrus scent of his expensive hair products (James laughed the first time he saw the bottles appear in his bathroom, but not to Becker's face). Leather and sweat and sometimes blood. Then, somehow, he always manages to smell a little bit like gun oil even though they almost never use conventional weapons at the ARC anymore. And beneath all of that, just Becker.

He loves the drag of his tongue over the knobs of Becker's spine, the salty tang of sweat that he can lick off Becker's back, just above the sweet curve of his arse. He loves the feel of Becker against him, all angles and hard planes of muscle, and he loves that he can be as rough as he wants and Becker will take it and still want more, harder, faster.

And then there's this. The way Becker smiles at him, lazy and sated and affectionate, sometimes with a quip on his tongue and sometimes too tired to bother. Becker never smiles at anyone quite like he smiles at James.

This is what James loves best of all.

_**End**_


	2. Chapter 2

_****_A/N: And here is the companion piece, Becker POV.

_**A Study on Need, Part Two**_

It's been a sodding terrible day.

Becker's running on maybe two hours of sleep, having got home late the night before (technically, he wasn't home until this morning) because of an anomaly and then being roused before the sun rose due to, yes, another anomaly. It had been a bad one. Three civilians were dead before they even arrived at the scene and they lost two more despite their best efforts. A news team got there even before the ARC team and, of course, recorded all of it. Lester has put a ban on turning the television on and Becker knows it's because he doesn't want Becker to see the footage or what people are saying about it. It's a nice gesture, but Becker saw enough of the fallout already just from turning on his computer. (There are also twelve missed calls and six messages on his phone from various family members and Becker is afraid to even imagine what they say.)

One of the lads nearly died today as well, a kid, twenty years old, and Becker had sat with him trying to keep his guts from falling out until the medics got there.

He stayed at the hospital as long as he could, until the kid was stabilised, and then he'd returned to the ARC, covered in blood that mostly wasn't his and starting to crash from his adrenaline-high. Lester had tried to send him home but Becker insisted that he had work to do. Beyond that, he was unable to face the prospect of sitting in the flat by himself, knowing he wouldn't sleep, knowing he would dwell on the day's events without anything to distract him.

He's home now, though. Lester's sitting on the couch and Becker's on the floor beside him, his head against Lester's knee and Lester's fingers in his hair. Sid and Nancy are actually curled up in his lap, sleeping soundly, like they knew he was seeking comfort and would welcome it in any form.

The best comfort he can possibly receive, though, is the sound of Lester speaking.

Before Lester, on a day like this Becker would have done one of two things: he would have gone home and drunk until he felt numb or he would have gone out and drunk until he felt numb and then found someone willing to get off with in an alley or the loo or his car or where-bloody-ever. His mother would call that self-destructive behaviour but Becker had always thought it was better than getting pissed and then looking for a fight, which was always a tempting alternative.

But now he has Lester and his options have become these: he lets Lester fuck him through the mattress or he listens to Lester talk. Alcohol is occasionally involved in both options.

He knows it's weird. A fuck or a conversation? But sometimes all he wants is to feel, to feel used, to be dominated. That's probably messed up but Becker has never claimed to be otherwise (anyone who didn't see it just wasn't looking hard enough). And then sometimes he just wants Lester. A couple of years ago if someone had said to him that Lester's voice would be one of the most soothing sensations in the world to him, he probably would have fallen over laughing. That was when he associated Lester's voice with lectures and scorn and disappointment, something akin to being brought to the Head's office.

Now Lester's voice feels like home.

Lester talks about everything and nothing, whatever he thinks of, and he never expects Becker to reply. He knows that all Becker wants is to listen, to hear the sound of Lester's voice and to sit there in his comforting presence. He talks about his kids sometimes, amusing stories of when they were younger, anecdotes about what it was like for him as a new father with twins, in completely over his head. He tells colourful stories about his career in the civil service, the people he's worked with and for, occasionally unbelievable tales of public figures that make Becker wonder if Lester's taking the piss. Lester never talks exactly about himself, only obliquely, but Becker still learns more about him during these one-sided conversations than he ever does on a normal day.

Becker listens to the cadence of Lester's voice, lets the sound wash over him, and tries not to think about anything else. Tries not to think about how he failed, about how he completely fucked up the only thing he's responsible for, just like he always does.

He loses someone and he knows that he's not good enough, that he's never been good enough. No matter how hard he tried he could never live up to what his father wanted and he could never be what everyone expected of Hilary Becker, and that hasn't changed. Since he came to the ARC he has lost so many people, civilians he should have been able to save, colleagues- friends- he will never forgive himself for. That Connor and Abby came back, that Danny didn't die lost and alone (not as far as they know, at least), is not through Becker's doing.

It makes him think he should never have returned to the ARC. What the hell had Lester been thinking, actually asking for Becker specifically? Lester, maybe more than anyone, knows exactly how much Becker has screwed up. He doesn't know why Lester wanted him back but he will never ask. He doesn't know that he could even bear to hear it because he doesn't think he would believe the answer. Lester looks at him like he is something special, something good, and Becker will never be able to completely understand why.

He came to the ARC and let Nick Cutter get killed, let a bomb go off, and then couldn't even catch the woman who'd done it. He let Jenny Lewis nearly die- or, really, he did let her die and it's no thanks to him that she was resuscitated. He let Christine Johnson walk right into the ARC like she owned it. He let Danny, Abby, and Connor get trapped in the past and then he got Sarah killed on a fruitless recovery mission. He lost civilians, he lost his own men, and he almost lost Lester. He tries so hard but he can never be who he needs to be. He breaks everything.

Lester is the best thing that has ever happened to him and he did his best to break that, too.

Doubtless Lester would say that Becker tries his best to break himself as well, and there would be some truth to it. Not that Becker has a death wish- he quite likes being alive. It's more that he just doesn't care what happens to him. If he needs to risk his personal safety to ensure the safety of someone else, he considers it a fair trade.

But Becker's accident with the _Carcharodontosaurus _acted as a wake-up call of sorts. It forced him to acknowledge that if he is reckless with his own life, he is being reckless with the well-being of the people who love him.

And he does have people who love him.

He doesn't want his mother to have to bury him like she did his father. Becker remembers that the knowledge his father had died bravely and honourably was cold comfort to her. Even the thought of his sisters weeping over him makes him want to throw up. His friends at the ARC have had enough grief without him adding to it (it is Abby's face that comes to mind when he thinks about them, Abby who had hugged him fiercely and said _I thought it had killed you_).

Then, of course, there is Lester. He will never be able to forget the sight of Lester crying over him and how it made him feel, the tentative way Lester touched him, like he was something fragile and precious, or the way that for months afterward Lester's eyes constantly darted over to him like he was afraid Becker might have vanished in the meantime.

Sometimes, on days like this, when Becker is feeling sorry for himself (yes, he can admit it), Becker thinks that Lester would probably be better off without him, that he should leave. But he can't do it because the truth is that he needs the way Lester looks at him. He needs to know that there is someone who thinks he's special and good and important, even if it isn't true. He needs the way Lester makes him feel. This is selfish of him, but there it is.

And in any case, he knows that Lester would probably kick his arse if Becker tried to just walk out on him. (Hell, so would his mum, his sisters, and half the ARC, almost certainly starting with Jess Parker.)

Maybe this is selfish, too (or perhaps 'arrogant' would be more apt), but Becker thinks he isn't completely useless to Lester. He likes to think that Lester needs him at least a little bit. At the very least, Becker takes better care of Lester than Lester does himself; he makes sure that Lester remembers to do those pesky things like eating. Becker tries to do at least that much right.

No matter how many times Becker goes through a day like this, no matter how many people he loses, it never, never, ever gets easier. Sometimes he wishes it would but he's not sure he would like the person that would make him. He's known guys like that, guys who have grown numb, guys who can brush it off, and Becker doesn't want to be like them.

Feeling like shit has to be better than feeling nothing at all.

Lester always seems to know what to do. He knows when Becker wants him to talk and he knows when Becker wants him to just be quiet and fuck him, rough and demanding because that's what Becker needs. He never questions it, he never asks Becker to talk about what's happened, and he never judges. Best of all, he never makes Becker ask. Lester is well aware of how much Becker hates asking for anything.

Just now Lester is tugging harder at Becker's hair, like he can tell that Becker is thinking too much, isn't allowing himself to be distracted (Becker knows very well how much Lester hates it when Becker thinks this poorly of himself). Becker sighs a little and tries to relax, sinks farther back against Lester, concentrates on his words. Lester eases up on his grip, returns to stroking Becker's scalp, and Becker gives another quiet sigh. He thinks he might fall asleep here, just like this.

He doesn't think he quite deserves Lester, deserves what Lester does for him after he has made such a mess of things, but he isn't going to let this go all the same.

_**End**_


End file.
